Te Amo
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: Part of the Sapphire verse. "It was, without a doubt, the fight to end all fights." Sherlock didn't mean what he said, but the words came out of his mouth anyway.


It was, without a doubt, the fight to end all fights.

Like all fights, it started out small. Sherlock had been out on a case by himself (Mrs. Hudson couldn't babysit so John could come too) and he nearly got shot. Twice. Because he took a stupid little risk and taunted a murdered to get him to come out, leaving himself completely unprotected. The shot missed both times, but the fact of the matter was that he got shot at in the first place.

The second John found out he was upset. A little tiff just grew, and grew, and grew, and soon enough they were shouting at each other and screaming and the Union Jack pillow was thrown across the room.

"_Don't you bloody care at all?"_ John had shouted.

"_Why should I?"_ Sherlock screamed back.

And the world just stopped.

John stared at him, shoulders shaking and hands clenched into tight fists at his side, and for a second Sherlock was scared. Scared John was going to hit him, be like everyone else. That Mycroft was going to get him out and he'd be forced to leave the crazy little life they led. Even if it wasn't a one time thing Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to handle leaving. He actually _loved_ John and Zach and where he was, and he knew he wouldn't be able to go even if he did hurt. With the other's it was easier. He got together with them out of habit, or because they had something he wanted. John had what he actually _needed_. He wouldn't be able to let that go.

There was a long, frightening moment of silence when John turned around. "I need some air." He said shakily. Sherlock could only watch as the best thing that ever happened to him walked out the front door.

Sherlock stood there, stunned, as he watched the door slam shut. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He didn't even know how he was still standing. All there was at that moment was that door and the thought that _oh God, what if he doesn't come back?_ It wouldn't have been surprising -everyone walked out eventually in Sherlock's experience- but it still would have hurt more than any blow.

"Sherlock?" Came Zach's voice from behind him. Sherlock turned, blinking away the tears that had formed in his eyes. Wide green eyes stared back at him, scared and hurt all at once. "What happened? Was it something I did?"

The dark haired man blinked, swallowing hard. "No," he said slowly. "No Zach, it wasn't anything you did. It's my fault." It was. It really, truly was. If John did decide not to come back, maybe even get a divorce, it would be entirely his own fault. His actions had started the fight, he'd taken it that step too far. He wouldn't blame John if he just stayed away.

Zach nodded, head hung slightly. "'M goin' to bed." He muttered, and walked off. As soon as he was out of site Sherlock collapsed onto John's chair, and for the first time since their wedding he sobbed.

Thus began the most hellish week of Sherlock's adult life.

Oh, he'd faced some pretty bad times (his entire childhood discounted), but this was by far the worst. Detoxing from cocaine seemed like a breeze compared to going without John. Zach made it bearable, or at least made it to where he couldn't let the façade of it not bothering him and that John _would_ be coming back slip. Any time he had to make a conscious effort to play a role it was a distraction, and at that time the distraction was what he needed more than anything.

The first day wasn't that terribly bad. He went on as usual, or tried to. He just convinced himself that John needed a day to think away from home. It had happened before, during the first Moriarty debacle, but then he'd stayed with Sarah. That, in no extent of the word, was a comforting thought. He spent the whole day playing the violin, even after Zach got home. Ave Maria, over and over and over. Zach joined in soon enough, duel violins ringing out with the sad sounding melody long into the night. Day two was very much the same.

At day three John called, asking immediately to talk with Zach. He sounded tired, but still a bit upset. Sherlock could see why the older man wouldn't want to talk to him. Zach talked at length, seeming to try and keep John on the phone for as long as physically possible. Eventually Sherlock said he needed to go since he had school. The dark haired boy had pouted, handing the phone back and diving under the cover's.

As soon as Sherlock was sure he was out of his son's earshot he brought the phone back up. "When are you coming home?" He asked, truly worried about the subject. Not that it came across in his tone. More because Sherlock wouldn't let it than anything else. Something inside him still didn't want John to see him vulnerable. Ever.

John sighed from his end of the line, the sound coming more like static through the phone. "_I don't know, Sherlock._" He said wearily. "_I just… I just need to think this over, okay?_" And he hung up, leaving the dial tone to ring mercilessly in the silence. Sherlock felt himself stiffen, his heart clenching painfully. What did John need to think about? Leaving for good? Coming home? Maybe he was considering a divorce…

Sherlock shook his head, dark curls bouncing on his head. John would never do such a thing over something as petty as an argument, no matter how big it was.

…Right?

John called every night after that. To talk to Zach, of course. Not to Sherlock, never to Sherlock. On the eighth day the consulting detective felt himself cracking, more and more. Zach spent that day with Mycroft.

He cried his eyes out that day, sitting on the couch. He tried to ignore it, how the smallest reminder of John was doing this to him and how utterly pathetic he felt because of it, but he found he couldn't. If his father could have seen him then…

Suddenly, he could hear footsteps. Taking them two at a time, slightly uneven gait. Sherlock wiped the tears from his eyes hurriedly. He found himself hoping it was John despite himself.

And John it was. The doctor burst through the door, a small backpack on his shoulders. He looked around quickly, eyes zeroing in on Sherlock. Sherlock must have blinked, because the very next moment there was a pair of strong arms around him and whispers of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" pressed into his hair. He blinked, grey eyes wide.

"Why?" He asked, interrupting John and pulling the other man apart, if only slightly, to where he could meet hazel eyes.

John choked, surprised. "What do you mean "why"?" He asked, voice thick. "Why am I back, why am I sorry-"

"That one." Sherlock responded, cutting his partner off before he could continue. "Why are _you_ sorry? I should be the one apologizing." He swallowed, burying his face in the crook of John's neck before he got a reply. "It's my fault anyway."

The blond stiffened, stroking dark hair soothingly. "No, no Sherlock," he whispered soothingly, breath hitching slightly. "I shouldn't have left. I let my temper get the better of me and I walked out." Sherlock shuddered.

"It was my fault you left though," he said quietly. "It was my fault we started fighting. If I hadn't been so stupid-!" He cut himself off. He knew John didn't like it when he put himself down like that. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken that risk on the case, and I wasn't thinking when I said what I did." John sighed, pulling the detective even closer.

"I still shouldn't have reacted the way I did." He muttered. "I knew you didn't mean it but I still acted rashly. I left you without a second though and I… God, Sherlock, I nearly hit you." His breath hitched against Sherlock's neck. "I am so, so sorry if I scared you. I have no excuse for doing that to you. " He was crying now, just a little. Sherlock pulled away, flushed face drawn in confusion.

John stared at him, his vision blurry. This man in front of him -this brilliant, amazing man- couldn't seem to compute the tears streaming down his face, why they were happening, and John felt his heart break a little. He had been trying so hard to show Sherlock his own worth, that he hadn't deserved anything he'd got in the past, but he still didn't quite get it. It was written all over his face. He was blaming himself, and he hadn't even expected John to come back at all. He didn't even understand why the idea that John had nearly hit him _physically_ hurt the older man.

"John?" Sherlock sounded worried. "John, what's wrong? Did I… John what did I…?" He was floundering in this situation, not getting it and thinking _what did I do wrong? Will he leave again?_ John stared at him, his head shaking in a negative.

"No," he said quietly. "No Sherlock. It's just…" He looked up. "I love you, and I swear I will never do anything to hurt you again, in _any_ way. Okay?" Sherlock nodded dumbly, blinking rapidly. He still wasn't quite getting it.

After another second, John pulled his husband into a kiss, tears still streaming down his face.

They talk about it later.

_{][End][}_

**A/N: Wow... That is quite possibly the most angsty thing I have ever written. That's the first time I've actually cried while writing something through most of it. Wow. (On that note: I am sorry abut the OOCness.)**

**Anyway... Dedicated to jenamy, for being a faithful reviewer to all of my Sherlock fics and inspiring me to go on with this idea instead of leaving it half-finished.**

**Based off the song The Chain by ingrid Meachaelson.**

**~Piki :B**


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